


Heartlines

by Hydrasnixed



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Postpartum Depression, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydrasnixed/pseuds/Hydrasnixed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4b AU. Belle leaves Storybooke after banishing Rumpelstiltskin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She walked away, heels tapping on the damp tarmac, the knife still clutched in her hand. Do the brave thing she'd always told herself … words that now made her sick to her stomach.

Belle slipped back into town quietly, keeping to the shadows. She crept into the house they'd shared; to their room. The bed was still unmade and she curled herself up amongst the wrinkled sheets, breathing his scent. Their scent.

When the phone rang, she couldn't rouse herself to answer. The door bell sounded, followed by a hail of knocking. Someone shouted and still she did not move. Belle needed them to leave her alone, to let her mourn her husband's descent into darkness.

It started to rain, great drops beating against the windows. She wondered if he was still there, out beyond the town line. On his knees. Begging. Her self control shattered. Great, ugly tears splashed down her cheeks, staining the pristine white pillow. Her body convulsed as she wrapped her arms around her stomach trying to stop the long angry sobs.

Belle cried herself out during the night. By the time the sun rose she had nothing left to give. Not for herself, not for anyone in this town. With the stillness of the new day came clarity. And, in that moment, Belle knew that she couldn't stay. She washed her face, wiped away the traces of her tears and tried to pull together the last remnants of any strength she might once have had.

She packed a bag and slipped the wedding ring from her finger. If, by some chance, he came back to Storybrooke he would find it. He would know. Taking one last look around their house, Belle realised that there was nothing here that she wanted. Not the selfie she had forced him to take on their wedding day… not the chipped cup. She left everything, closing the door softly behind her as she walked out into the early morning light.

She only made one call. A simple request, refused at first. But Belle argued, begged … pleaded. In the end she made her deal.

And six weeks later, in a city called New York, a girl called Lacey French discovered that she was pregnant.


	2. Chapter 2

Lacey hated New York on days like this … days when the droplets of sweat never stopped rolling down her overheated skin … when her feet were swollen and her back ached and she cursed each and every customer who demanded iced tea. She longed for the merest whisper of a breeze but, on days like this, the city was harsh … relentless.

The heat from the sidewalk burned through the thinning soles of her shoes. She needed new ones but right now she had more important things to spend her meagre earnings on. Her rent was due and her landlord wasn't the type of man who liked to be kept waiting. Lacey quickened her pace as much as she could, given the extra weight that she carried.

The six flights of stairs up to her apartment were especially hard. The elevator had been broken for what felt like forever. She paused on the first landing, letting her hand rest lightly on her bump as the baby shifted within. It couldn't be much longer now. The thought both delighted and terrified her. Most women would have had this all figured out by now but Lacey wasn't even close. She wasn't even sure where her kid was going to sleep. The baby kicked again.

There were memories. Vague, blurred around the edges. Softened by nights of hard drinking when all she'd cared about was getting that hook up at the end of the night. Darkness. The heat of bodies wrapped together in cold passion. She could barely remember the faces never mind the names.

Lacey braced her hands against her back, stretching out the cramping muscles, trying to ignore the click of the lock as a door opened and a blue rinsed head appeared.

'Everything alright dear?'

Mrs. Letterman was almost ninety, and seemed to spend her days patrolling the stairwells and corridors of the apartment building.

'Rent day,' Lacey said.

'Such a handsome man. Always dresses so nicely.'

Lacey didn't have enough breath left to disagree.

Her hair was damp with sweat by the time she managed to get her key in the lock and let herself into the tiny apartment.

She opened the windows but it did little to alleviate the unrelenting heat. Air conditioning would have been nice but the old unit had never worked worth a damn. A best it moved the air around a little, at worst it sprayed the room with water. She wondered again how exactly she was going to bring up a baby here. The bedroom was barely large enough for the double bed never mind a baby's crib and as for the bathroom…

Lacey glanced at her watch. It was later than she thought. Any minute now there would be that knock on the door. She counted out her money carefully. Taking it from the jar she kept under her bed. Lacey didn't have a bank account. There wasn't much point. She counted up a second time.

It wasn't enough.

She swore to herself, slightly mystified by the harsh language that fell from her lips. Lacey emptied her purse, scrabbled down the back of the dilapidated couch in the hopes of finding spare quarters. She felt a sharp pain deep in her gut that had nothing to do with the unwelcome jab of infant arms and legs. In her mind she was calculating, trying to work out where or when she had spent the money. She was always so careful and yet … Oh God. There had been a little outfit for the baby.

The store clerk had been so snooty that Belle had purchased it just to prove that she could. She'd meant to return it and put the money back but somehow… She'd just wanted one new thing for her child. Was that so bad? Everything else had come from charity shops.

Lacey cringed when the sharp knock came. She sat there, not daring to move, not daring to breath.

'Miss French.'

It wasn't a question. He knew she was home. Although she doubted that he'd break the door down, rumour had it that he was quite capable of making her life very unpleasant. She couldn't … wouldn't let him throw her out onto the street. Hauling herself up off the couch, Lacey went to open the door. He took one halting step into the apartment, looking around as he always did. Lacey was never certain what he hoped to find. The disdain on his face made the room feel dirty even though she had cleaned that very morning. She'd often wondered why he came himself. Surely he had minions who wouldn't mind treading on a carpet so faded that no one could hazard a guess as to its original colour?

He was immaculately dressed, as always. Cool and confident, despite the heat. Somewhere at the back of her mind, Lacey knew that the suit was Armani. The cane clutched in his hand drew attention to his disability, but he never seemed less powerful because of it. Long fingered hands, his left adorned with a ring. Somehow Lacey couldn't imagine him being married to anyone. She pitied his wife.

Lacey gathered together the notes and coins from where they were scattered on the table. She handed it to him, pleased when some of the coins slipped from his fingers and he had to bend down to pick them up. It was difficult for him, but she let him struggle.

'There seems to be something missing, Miss French.'

'It's all I have.'

She looked him straight in the eye, refusing to back down, to apologise despite the fact that she felt sick to her stomach.

'And you are no doubt, about to plead your unfortunate condition as to the reason why you cannot pay me.'

He was a bastard. Lacey longed to punch him in the face.

'You'll get the money.'

'Will I?'

'Yes.'

Lacey's hand instinctively went to cover her bump. She felt another ripple of life underneath the skin drawing a gasp from her unwilling lips.

'Spare me the dramatics,' he snarled.

For some reason his voice seemed to be goading the baby into a frenzy of activity. She winced as another kick caught just below the diaphragm. It seemed her child hated him too. He took a step closer, invading her personal space but Lacey refused to back away.

'Get out,' she hissed. 'You will get your money I promise you that but, right now this is my apartment and I want you to leave!'

He seemed to think about that for a moment, still standing uncomfortably close. It might have been an accident; it might have been something else but, just for a second, his fingers brushed against the taught skin of her stomach. Lacey took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that the scent of his cologne wasn't helping the situation. It made her think of cool forests and harsh mountain air. She'd never experienced either.

Finally, just when she thought she couldn't bear it any longer, he inclined his head.

'A week, Miss French.'

Lacey shut the door behind him then leant against it. Fifty dollars. She had no idea where the missing money would come from. Lacey was already taking as many extra shifts as she could and the tips never amounted to much. Deep down, she knew that she wasn't really much of a waitress. She could never, ever hope to support this child. Letting her head fall into her hands, she wept. It wasn't pretty; anguished, angry gulps that pulled the air from her lungs. She didn't care who heard her - certainly not the broken man who stood on the other side of the door, a single tear crystallising on his cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

At first it was nothing more than a bad case of indigestion, stomach cramps that kept her up for most of the night. Long enough that Lacey was tired and cranky by the time she'd struggled into her uniform and hauled herself to the diner.

'You're late, French,' Angelo, her boss, called out as she waddled past him.

The place was already packed, the breakfast rush in full swing.

'I know … I know … I'm sorry.'

He shook his head and went back to flipping pancakes. A gruff man, with slightly dubious personal hygiene, he had a temper that he used to make up for his lack of height. But he'd given Lacey a job when no one else would so she had no choice but to be grateful.

'French.'

'What?'

'There's a guy on table ten. Lena says he's freaking her out. Take over will ya?'

There were a whole heap of things you didn't have to do if you were screwing the boss … serving difficult customers being top of the list. Lacey glanced across the kitchen at the willowy red head.

'Thanks, sweetie,' Lena smiled.

Lacey grabbed the coffee pot, the mild backache catching her by surprise. Her stomach cramped again… But that might have had something to do with the man sitting by the window reading the New York Times.

'Checking up on me?' Lacey asked as she filled his mug, wishing that she had the courage to pour the hot, dark liquid over his head.

'Protecting my investment, dearie.'

But he was a customer and she had to at least attempt to remain polite. She shifted from one foot to the other, trying to ease the pressure on her swollen ankles. He took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. For some reason the thought crossed Lacey's mind that he was probably a tea man.

'What can I get you?' she asked.

'Anything that won't give me food poisoning.'

She waited for a few moments, but he was obviously serious.

'We have some great specials?' she ventured.

'I don't think I'll risk it.'

He stood, pulled a twenty out of his wallet and placed it on the table.

'Keep the change.'

She stared at the money, suddenly angry at the realisation that she had no choice but to accept his charity. Lacey pocketed the bill, even though she hated herself for doing so, for looking weak.

'Good girl,' he sneered before picking up his cane and limping away.

She didn't want to be grateful to the man. Lacey couldn't believe that he was helping her out of the goodness of his heart.

'Trouble?' Angelo asked when she got back to the kitchen.

'Nothing I can't handle,' she said.

The unpleasant encounter played on her mind as she worked through her shift, battling against exhaustion and the general feeling that all was not well.

If she made more mistakes than usual her customers were kind enough not to complain too much if their eggs were sunny side up instead of over easy. Lacey was relieved when her break finally came around and she could sit for a few minutes.

Her back was still aching, and she braced her hands against it, trying to breath through the pain.

'You okay, French?'

'Yeah … just need a minute.'

She slipped out the back door, not caring that Lena shut it behind her, hoping that fresh air would help. It didn't. The heat was oppressive. Lacey leant against the wall, in the shade of a dumpster, as she tried to catch her breath. The pain was getting worse, coming over her in waves. Something warm and wet trickled down her leg.

'Oh gods…'

This wasn't right. It was too soon. She needed to get back inside, call an ambulance, do something … anything. For some reason the door wouldn't open. Lacey rammed her fist into it again and again, bruising her knuckles. Sobbing, her breath coming in harsh pants, she slid down the wall.

'Help,' she cried out but her voice sounded strange, diminished. No one heard her. No one came.

Deep down came the realisation that unless she did something, her child was going to be born in a dirty back alley. Lacey was damned if she were going to allow that to happen. All she had to do was walk around to the front of the building. How hard could that be? She staggered to her feet, bent over against the pain that threatened to rip her stomach apart.

Pushing one foot in front of the other, Lacey made it as far as the street. Sweating, aching, she reached out to the nearest passer by only for them to back away. She stood there, alone, as the city rushed past her. Her clothes were now stained with blood. Too much blood. She couldn't go back into the diner. Not like this. Tears were streaming down her face. Why wasn't anyone stopping? Why wouldn't anyone help? Her vision darkened as she sank to her knees.

And then there was someone.

The tap of a cane. A dark suited figure. He stood over her, blocking out the sun.

'Please?' she gasped.

Arms, more gentle than she ever could have expected, were holding her. She struggled against him, at first not wanting to accept help from the man she hated, but he was stronger than she had imagined. In the end she had no choice but to submit to his embrace.

'You,' he snapped at the nearest passer by. 'Call 911!'

A crowd was gathering now, people stopping on the street, people coming out of the diner. She spotted Angelo's too red face. Somehow the only thought that crossed her mind was that he wouldn't have anyone to finish her shift. Lena wouldn't do it. The woman was watching, impassive. Lacey pressed her face against Gold, using his suit jacket to soak up her tears.

She glanced up again, noting the plethora of phones recording the scene. The man holding her growled,

'Get those idiots out of here!'

Angelo immediately started shoving his way through the crowd.

'What's happening?' she sobbed.

A hand stroked the sweat slicked hair from her forehead.

'You're having a baby, sweetheart.'

There was a hint of a smile in his voice. Lacey didn't have the chance to wonder at it, gritting her teeth against the next contraction.

'That's it,' he said, 'Just breathe.'

'No … no … Something's wrong.'

She started to fight against him again. Her instincts were telling her that she needed to get as far away from here as possible.

'Sh … sh … it's okay … it's okay … they'll be here soon.'

He sounded calm, unnaturally so. But he was also right. The sound of a siren, blue flashing lights … the next few moments were a blur. The paramedics gently eased her away from him and onto the gurney.

'Sir, are you coming?'

Lacey reached for his hand. She didn't know exactly why but it seemed important that he didn't leave her alone right now. Only when she was sure that he was with her, when his hand was clasped in hers, did Lacey let herself drift into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

She awoke to a song; the soft croon of a lullaby in a language that she didn't quite understand. Lacey almost let the man's pleasant voice lull her back to sleep … would have done if it hadn't been for the sudden aching emptiness inside. Eyes still screwed shut she touched her stomach, missing the firm roundness of her pregnant belly. The baby was gone.

Her fault… all her fault.

There were moments of clarity; a voice calling her name as she was urged back to consciousness. Kind but clinical hands moving her onto a bed. Nurses fussing around, taking her blood pressure. A doctor, explaining that there had been complications.

And all the time a presence … A dark figure standing just outside her field of vision. Lacey remembered trying to turn her head to look but the movement made her dizzy.

Pain sliced across her gut. Fingers fumbling, Lacey lifted the hospital gown. There was a dressing on her stomach hiding the place where the baby had been ripped from her.

Tears started to dribble down her cheeks.

She hadn't wanted it at first. Finding out she was pregnant had been the worst day of her life and every instinct she possessed screamed at her to get rid of it. Somehow she'd never gotten around to making the appointment at the clinic and then suddenly it had been too late. She had a child in her belly. As new life blossomed within her, Lacey had slowly come to the realisation that it was something that she wanted more than any thing in the world. And then …

And then a nurse came bustling in and a soft bundle was placed in Lacey's arms.

'Here you go, dear, she's been missing her momma' the nurse said. 'Your husband just stepped out for a minute.'

'Husband?' Lacey asked her attention suddenly diverted from the wonder that was her daughter.

'Don't you worry he's been here the whole time. Kind of sweet actually. What you gonna call her?'

'Poppy,' Lacey said.

Poppy for a girl … Chip for a boy … She'd never been able to decide which she wanted more. It didn't matter now, not when she held this perfect tiny creature in her arms. Hesitantly, she stroked Poppy's cheek, marvelling at the softness of the baby skin.

'She's beautiful, ' Lacey whispered.

'Just like her momma.'

Lacey didn't feel beautiful. Her body still felt awkward and ugly, stained with the sweat of her labour. Her hair was a matted mess.

'And look … she's got her papa's eyes.'

The baby … Poppy … blinked sleepily up at her. Lacey found herself staring down into the most beautiful brown eyes that she had ever seen. It was love at first sight. Poppy opened her mouth and gave a little cry.

'Do you want to try feeding her?'

Lacey nodded, feeling slightly surreal as she let herself be instructed on the best way to suckle her baby. Little Poppy didn't seem to care too much about technique. She was making her displeasure known to all as she stopped grumbling and started crying in earnest. Lacey fumbled as she tried to hold the baby to her breast. Panic was making her awkward. It took the stranger but more experienced hands of the nurse to steady Poppy and persuade her to feed.

'There you go … she'll settle now.'

'Thank you.'

The tears pricked in her eyes again. Motherhood, what little she'd experienced of it, was overwhelming.

'Let me go and see if I can find that husband of yours,' the nurse said.

Lacey didn't protest. She was just glad to have a few moments to herself. The poor woman probably had her mixed up with someone else … And then she heard the tap of the cane.

'Here you go Mr. Gold. Little Poppy there's got quite the appetite. Just call if you need anything.'

He looked tired, Lacey realised … As if he really had been here all night. His suit was creased, his tie discarded. A light layer of stubble dusted his face.

'Poppy … it's a pretty name,' he said.

'Thank you.'

Even though his eyes were averted, Lacey still felt exposed. She wanted to pull the sheet up and hide herself but her arms were full of baby. Poppy started squirming. Struggling with the unfamiliar burden, Lacey wasn't quite sure what she should be doing. She felt the tears prick in her eyes.

'Uh … Mr. Gold … could you…?'

He hesitated. Lacey didn't know why she was asking. Yesterday she would never have considered letting him touch her child.

'I would be honoured, Miss French.'

Poppy didn't seem to mind being handed over. In fact she gurgled at Mr Gold and tried to grab his nose. Only then did he raise his head. Lacey couldn't fathom his expression. There was something else there apart from his discomfort. It almost seemed like … regret? He coughed to clear his throat.

'I think we can forget about the rent, Miss French.'

'I'm sorry?'

'I am aware that my behaviour yesterday might have precipitated this incident.'

Was he apologising? Was he calling her daughter an incident?

'Your medical bills will, of course, be paid in full.'

Gods … he expected her to sue him. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

'May I rely on your discretion, Miss French?'

She nodded.

'You have my word,' she said.

Poppy spit up on him, leaving a milky trail on his spotless jacket.

'I'm sorry I…'

Lacey wanted to stand, to take the baby away from him, but she still hurt so much.

'It's just a suit,' Gold said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a trigger warning for postpartum depression

Poppy wouldn't stop screaming.

She didn't know what to do. The baby wasn't hungry, or wet. She didn't seem to be sick.

Lacey was supposed to be on her way to work. Her shift started in a half hour and it would take her that long to walk to the diner … but she couldn't leave Poppy … not like this. It wasn't fair on Mrs Letterman. The walls of the tiny apartment seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the sound that her daughter was making.

She sat on her bed, watching Poppy yell. Gods, she was going to lose her job. She couldn't … shouldn't…

'Please … please be quiet,' Lacey sobbed.

She knew that a good mother would have picked her baby up, done her best to comfort the child but Lacey couldn't force herself to move any closer to the cot. The terrible truth was that she could barely bring herself to touch little Poppy. She was just so damn tired … that had to be the problem. Nothing else. The last time she had slept was eight weeks ago, whilst still confined to a hospital bed. Now summer had faded into autumn almost without her noticing. Lacey kept the blinds shut; not wanting to look out on a world that suddenly seemed too bright, too harsh. The walls were closing in on her and there was nowhere else to run.

Making a decision, she climbed to her feet. Moving slowly. That was all she could manage. The wound had healed but her gut still ached now and then. She looked down at Poppy. Her daughter stared back at her, silent for a moment.

Brown eyes? How the hell did Poppy have brown eyes? They reminded Lacey of… of…

She needed to go, to get to work so that they could afford to eat … There was only so far she could push Angelo's patience and if she missed another shift … Tentatively, Lacey reached for Poppy.

'Be good for Mrs Letterman.'

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the crying started again. Lacey backed away, clasping her hands over her ears as she tried to block out the noise. She retreated to the bed, curling up under the quilt and pulling a pillow over her head. It took several moments to realise that someone was at the door. Lacey willed them to go away but they just kept knocking. She wanted to scream but Poppy was making enough noise for the both of them. It was almost too much effort to move. But she had to … she had to pretend like nothing was wrong, even though she felt like she was walking through mud.

She expected Mrs. Letterman, an angry neighbour … even Angelo…

' ?'

Lacey hadn't seen him since that day in the hospital. Somehow he'd forgotten to collect last month's rent.

'There's been some complaints, dearie.'

Poppy chose that moment to let out a particularly loud scream. Ignoring Lacey, Gold limped into the apartment, choosing instead to stare at the child in the cot.

'She's a baby … babies cry,' Lacey said.

'Not all of the time.'

Leaning down, he stroked a long, elegant finger across Poppy's cheek and the traitorous little girl smiled, raising her arms towards him. Something inside of Lacey snapped. She scooped up Poppy and shoved her directly at Gold, forcing him to drop his cane in his efforts to catch her. He stumbled to one knee, still holding Poppy and keeping her from falling. Lacey realised that, in that moment, he had proven himself to be a better parent than she could every hope to be. Tears streaming down her face, Lacey snatched up her purse and fled the apartment.

She didn't go to work … she couldn't face it. Losing her job seemed of little consequence, not when she practically given her child away. Crying seemed like second nature. Like Poppy, she never seemed to stop.

Lacey took the subway uptown, mingling with the tourists as she tried to see New York as a place of promise. A shiny, glittering new start. That's what it should have been. The city had failed her in so many ways. Lacey missed the familiarity of her home town. Back there she would have had any number of people to help her out with the baby. A dozen adopted aunties lining up to baby sit. Oh sure they would have gossiped like nothing else. Racy Lacey come to a bad end just like everyone predicted. But she wouldn't have been alone. All her reasons for leaving seemed so childish now. She remembered being angry … so very angry. It was only her stupid pride that stopped her going back.

She walked until her feet were burning … until the sun had fallen and the Broadway lights were beaming. No one looked at her. She was just another nameless face in the crowd. It was only as the city lit up did Lacey fully start to appreciate the enormity of what she'd done. There were children everywhere she looked. Her breasts were warm and heavy with the milk that Poppy hadn't taken.

Her tired feet automatically took her in the direction of the nearest bar, stepping into the heavy warmth with a certain feeling of relief. She didn't worry about having no money. Lacey hadn't paid for a drink since way before her twenty-first birthday. And now, in this place, it wasn't any different. Two minutes later she had a glass of Jack Daniels clutched in her hand. Tipping her head back, she let the smoky liquid dribble down her throat, relishing the burn. She didn't know the name of the man who kept on refilling her glass. Then again, she didn't want to. Lacey figured he was rich … or rich enough. When his hands started wandering, she didn't hesitate to follow him to a dark corner.

She twined her arms about his neck, trying not to gag at breath stained with cigar smoke and garlic. His fingers dug into her hips, dragging them flush against his. Lacey steeled herself against the onslaught of lips, teeth and tongue. It should have felt good, to be out on her own, to be free. But somehow he tasted wrong. She'd expected fine wine, not cheap beer.

His hand slipped under her shirt, fumbling towards her breast. She tried to remember how much she'd missed this. Anonymous. Easy.

'What the f…?'

He snatched his hand back, white fluid glistening on his fingertips. Lacey felt her face burn. She pulled her shirt shut but it was too late to hide her leaking nipples. The man moved away so fast that he almost tripped over his feet. There had been a time when Lacey would have laughed at him. Now she just felt ugly. Unwanted. Gathering what was left of her dignity, she headed back out into the street.

The crowds thinned out as the night dragged on. It was true that this city never slept but it did pause … just a little. Lacy pulled her thin jacket around her shoulders, the warmth of the alcohol having burned away with the icy wind. Winter was just around the corner. She looked up at the moon struggling to make itself seen over the city lights. There would be a frost tonight. The first one. She hadn't switched the heat on in the apartment. Poppy would get cold.

Lacey started for the nearest subway station, nearly falling as she hurtled down the stairs. She had to get home. Was Poppy hungry now? Would Mr. Gold know what to do? There was a deeper fear settling in her heart. What if he'd taken Poppy away? The thought of her daughter thrust into the arms of the state care system made Lacey sick to her stomach. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. Someone had said that to her once but she was damned if she could remember who or when. There didn't seem much point being brave now. Not when she had already proved herself to be such a coward.

Her own neighbourhood wasn't quite so welcoming this late at night, but Lacey ran the two blocks to her apartment with the confidence of someone who had nothing to lose. And she didn't. She had abandoned her baby. The chances were that Poppy was already gone. Lacey knew that she wouldn't be able to blame Mr. Gold if he'd called social services.

When she finally pushed the door to her apartment open the last thing she expected to see was Mr. Gold, lying on the couch, a sleeping Poppy clutched to his chest with one hand and a book in the other. He set it down and Lacey blushed when she recognised the title – Her Handsome Hero, the only novel she owned.

'Hey,' Lacey said, suddenly aware of her dishevelled condition. All her energy seemed to drain away. She was limping almost as badly as he did. She took Poppy from him, cradling her baby close. To her surprise the girl didn't wake.

'I took the liberty of calling your employer. He believes you have the flu,' Gold said as he sat up.

'Why? Why are you helping me?'

He let his hand rest on Poppy's head, a benediction … as if that was answer enough but Lacey was still struggling to understand.

'I was a father once,' he said.

Somehow she couldn't imagine it. With infinite care, he brushed his lips against Poppy's hair.

'What happened?' Lacey asked. Somehow she knew there was a story to tell, another layer to Mr. Gold but he didn't seem inclined to share it.

'He died.'

Without meaning to Lacey held Poppy a little tighter, not able to comprehend the pain of losing a child.

'I'm sorry.'

She wanted to say more but Gold was already moving towards the door.

'I'll see you next month, Miss French.'

'Mr. Gold … thank you.'

He paused. Taking a card out of his pocket, he placed it on the table.

'If there's ever anything you need… anything at all…'


	6. Chapter 6

Flu … it was a funny thing, Lacey decided as she struggled not to drip mucous into the pancakes. Now that she actually had it she didn't dare call in sick. Angelo would never believe her … not twice in a matter of months. All she could do was struggle through her shift and hope that she had the strength to make it home. Just walking back to the kitchen was almost too much effort - especially as she had to stop and cough her guts out on the way.

'You're scaring the customers, French,' Angelo said.

The heat of the grill wasn't enough to stop her shivering.

'Funny man,' she replied, 'I need two specials, eggs over easy, syrup on the side.'

Lena breezed in the back door, leaving it open, sending the icy wind through the kitchen.

'How's little Posie doing?' she asked.

'It's Poppy … her name is Poppy.'

'Whatever.'

Angelo dropped a couple of bacon strips onto the grill. The sizzle, the stench of it frying … Lacey had to fight a surge of nausea.

'Fine, she's fine.'

But Lacey didn't really know anymore. Her life seemed to have degraded into a cycle of work, diapers, feeding and puking. If there was a better way, she couldn't see it right now.

'You should bring her by some time,' Angelo said.

'I will … some time.'

Lena pressed a kiss to Angelo's bald head.

'That wouldn't be very hygienic, sweetie.'

For once Lacey had to agree, bringing the baby to work seemed wrong somehow. She was trying her hardest and things were better but the truth was that she still didn't feel like a mother. There was always that sneaking suspicion at the back of her mind that she would never truly love her child. Did that make her a terrible person? Lacey surreptitiously wiped her nose on a napkin.

'Speaking of hygienic…' Lena said.

Another thirty seconds and Lacey really was going to be sick. Angelo looked up from the hash browns.

'Go home, French.'

'I'm fine.'

'You puke on my customers and I'll throw you out on your ass.'

Weighing up the odds, Lacey realised that the chances were pretty high. Admitting defeat, she surrendered her apron … as well as this week's pay check

'Here…' Angelo said, shoving a bag of leftovers into her hands. 'And don't come back till you're feeling better.'

Flakes of snow were falling as she stepped out onto the street. Lacey turned her face upwards, letting the icy particles cool her overheated skin. Her first New York Winter. She zipped up her threadbare hoodie, even though it offered scant protection from the cold. Despite her worries about Poppy, about earning enough to keep them warm and safe, she had thrilled to the fact that Christmas was just around the corner. Poppy's first Christmas, and Lacey had been determined to make it special. But that couldn't happen if she was sick and couldn't work.

It was that thought that made her stop at the baby store on the way home. She felt like crap but the display in the window was too tempting to resist. There was so much her daughter was missing out on. Lacey wandered through the racks of clothes, of toys, knowing that she could never afford to give her daughter the best of anything. She picked up a bear in a Santa hat. It was cute. Poppy didn't have anything like it. Perhaps that was why she cried so much in the night? Lacey took a look at the price tag. Fifty dollars. There was something very wrong about that. The bear's fur was soft under her fingers, Poppy would love it. It was just a small thing … small enough for Poppy to clutch in her tiny hands … small enough to fit in a pocket.

Lacey glanced around the shop. No one was watching her. It was so easy. She walked slowly, trying not to draw attention to herself, even pausing to look at other items on her way out. If she'd been thinking clearly, she never would have done it. But right at that moment nothing seemed more important than her daughter's happiness.

It was only as she stepped out into the cold, icy New York City snow that the enormity of what she'd done hit her. Lacey started to run. Taking deep breaths of the frigid air was agony, but she couldn't seem to slow down. She hurtled down the street as if the gods themselves were after her. And perhaps they were. Some might have said it was the devil himself who interrupted her headlong flight. She literally ran into Mr. Gold, almost sending them both sprawling onto the sidewalk. He dropped his cane wrapping both arms about her in an effort to keep them both upright. Lacey clutched at his dark coat for a moment, staring at the silver snowflakes melting into the heavy wool. He pushed her away, holding her at arms length. Then, to her surprise, he let his hand rest against her burning cheek.

'Are you quite well, Miss French?' he asked. A faint hint of whiskey stained his breath.

'Yes … yes, I'm…' Lacey started to say, only to lose her words to a wracking cough.

She scrabbled in her pocket for a Kleenex only for the bear with the Santa hat to tumble out. Lacey felt herself start to panic again.

'I didn't mean to,' she blurted out.

He picked the little thing up, turning it over in his fingers.

'I'm going to take it back.'

Gold shook his head, a slight smile gracing his features.

'They won't even notice it's gone,' he said returning the toy. Then, to her complete surprise, he slipped his coat off and tucked it around her shoulders.

'Let's get you inside.'

The attention should have been overwhelming. Despite her taste in reading material, Lacey had never been one to accept help from a knight in shining armour. She preferred to save herself. It was a testament to how crappy she was feeling that she didn't mind him helping her up the stairs. When she fumbled with the key, she let him take it from her and open the door to the apartment.

'You're back early, dear,' Mrs Letterman said.

'Yes,' Lacey said, deliberately ignoring the implied question in the older woman's voice. 'How was Poppy?'

'A little angel.'

Lacey wasn't so sure about that. Mr. Gold removed the coat from her shoulders, brushing the last drops of water away before he folded it neatly over the back of the couch. It looked like he was planning to stay a while. Mrs Letterman glanced between the two of them, pale blue eyes unexpectedly sharp behind her thick glasses.

'If only I was ten years younger,' she sighed and patted Mr. Gold on the butt as she walked out the door. The horrified expression on his face was enough to send Lacey off into another fit of coughing as she tried not to laugh.

'You should get some rest,' he said when she finally subsided into silence.

'I will,' Lacey promised although she knew that very much depended on her daughter.

Mr. Gold had helped her in so many ways; it seemed ungrateful to throw him out on his ass.

'Would you like… I mean … if you haven't eaten yet?'

She held up the greasy bag of cold breakfast burritos. To her immense relief he didn't laugh in her face.

'I would be honoured.'

A whimper from the cot and Lacey realised that someone else was also in need of breakfast. She handed Gold the bag and nodded towards the kitchen.

'Uh … could you?'

Scooping Poppy up in her arms, she settled herself on the couch and unbuttoned her shirt. Mr Gold, she noticed, suddenly became very interested in the contents of the kitchen. She watched as he placed both the burritos on a plate and put them in the oven to warm through.

'There's tea if you want it.'

'You don't appear to have a kettle, Miss French.'

'I usually make it in the microwave.'

The absolute horror on his face was enough to start her coughing again.

'How uncivilised,' he said as he set a pan of water on the stove to boil.

It felt odd, she realised, watching him move about her kitchen. Odd, but not unpleasant. Despite the fact that the tea was made from bags, without the aid of a teapot, it was still the best she had ever tasted.

There was nowhere else to sit so he was forced to perch on the edge of the couch. At one time Lacey would have rejoiced in his discomfort, but not today. She got up, still cradling Poppy to her breast.

'I'm sorry - I'll finish off in the bedroom'

But he put out a hand to stop her.

'Stay,' he said. 'I'll get used to it.'


	7. Chapter 7

Lacey didn't exactly know why she was standing in a snowstorm outside the Fifth Avenue apartment building. The only excuse she could think of was that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was twenty degrees outside. No one in their right mind was venturing outside unless they really, really had to … especially not with a baby in tow. She'd seen very few people on the streets, on the subway. Even the usual Saturday shoppers seemed to have felt it wiser to stay home.

'Mr. Gold's expecting me,' she told the doorman; trying to sound self-assured even though the man gave the impression that she wasn't fit to spit on his shoes. Lacey tugged at her skirt, trying to drag it down to a more respectable length. There was certainly nothing of the holiday spirit about the man. He hadn't even offered to help her with the stroller as she'd struggled up the steps. Lacey stood tall … or at least as much as she could, and glared at the man. Poppy, it seemed, was similarly unimpressed and spat her pacifier at him

'If you'd be so kind?'

He opened the door.

Once inside, Lacey felt her confident façade crumble a little. She'd never been in place like this before. Compared to where she'd come from it felt like a castle. Even the elevator that took them up to the penthouse had a touch of luxury about it. The mirrors were framed with fake gold. Lacey couldn't help but stare at her reflection. She'd changed so much in the past few months; skin like paper, the first flecks of grey in her hair, the wrinkles around her eyes had deepened even though she didn't seem to laugh that much anymore. It was only the thought of facing the snooty doorman again that made her step out of the elevator and kept her walking towards the door to Gold's apartment.

Gathering all of her courage, she knocked.

'Miss French?'

'Surprise,' she said.

'Bah bah!' said Poppy.

He didn't open the door any further and Lacey suddenly realised how pathetic her behaviour actually was. It was the weekend before Christmas. Of course he'd be with friends and family. Or Gods … even worse … maybe he did have a wife hidden away in there?

'We were … uh … just in the neighbourhood so we thought we'd stop by and say hi and … uh … happy holidays.'

Was he wearing pyjamas? Was that why he wouldn't open the door?

'I'm afraid I won't be very good company, Miss French.'

Lacey should have taken that as her final push to leave but somehow she couldn't. It had taken all of her courage to get this far. She should have brought a proper gift or a card or something … anything to prove that she wasn't some kind of crazy stalker woman. But all she had was…

'We made cookies.'

'We?'

Poppy raised a tiny hand towards him, the bear with the Santa hat clutched in her fist. He sighed, stood back and waved them into his apartment.

Gold really didn't look well, she noticed. Moving with more than his usual hesitancy, his face was quite grey. He rubbed his left shoulder, wincing slightly. Perhaps he was tired?

It wasn't a home, Lacey realised as soon as she walked in. The hardwood floors, high ceilings and big windows gave an impression of elegance but the place was furnished like a page in a catalogue. Even the dark jacket slung casually over one of the bentwood chairs looked as if it had been carefully placed to play into the illusion that this wasn't just a living space. It told her nothing about the man. He had exquisite taste - that much was certain but Lacey couldn't help worrying that Poppy would do something unspeakable to the gleaming white couch.

Lacey released Poppy from the stroller and set her daughter down on a small, expensive looking rug. Poppy immediately pushed herself up looking around with interest.

'I must apologise for my state of undress… If you'll excuse me for a moment…'

She suddenly felt smaller and shabbier than ever. Somehow, in his dressing gown, he'd been far less intimidating … even though it had been made of silk and probably cost more than her entire collection of clothes. She took a bite of a cookie, dismayed as the crumbs scattered on the shining floor. Poppy picked one of them up and tried to shove it in her mouth.

Lacey found herself unable to relax, wandering about the large room, trailing her fingertips over the ornaments, the works of art. A single rose stood alone on a low table. Red as blood. Fresh not fake, the petals were fading slightly and Lacey wondered if he replaced it each day. She wandered over to the window. The view was stunning, the harsh edges of the city blurred by snow. A perfect picture.

She heard the tap of his cane against the wooden floor.

'It's beautiful,' she whispered.

'Yes it is.'

His voice was rough, the accent more pronounced than usual. To her surprise he wasn't wearing a suit. He had on dark pants paired with a white shirt that was un-tucked, open at the neck. Undeniably handsome. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair.

'Tea, Miss French?'

'Yes please.'

The tea was served in bone china cups, so delicate that she could almost see through them. The misshapen cookies looked out of place on the matching plate.

'Darjeeling,' he said, 'first blush. I hope you like it.'

It tasted glorious. Lacey wanted to kick off her shoes curl up on the couch and spend the afternoon just watching the snow fall. He had a shelf of intriguing looking books that she wanted to read; artwork that she'd love to study and debate. Lacey realised that she'd kill for an adult conversation that wasn't related to burgers or pancakes. The reality of her life came crashing down around her. Sooner or later Poppy would need changing or feeding or bathing or putting down for a nap… Lacey knew with certainty that a Fifth Avenue penthouse wasn't for the likes of her. She gulped down her tea, almost scalding herself in the process.

'We should go.'

She scooped Poppy up in her arms, ignoring her daughter's protests at being distracted from her self appointed task of pulling the rug apart. Looking out of the window Lacey could see that the snow which had looked so pretty a few moments ago was building itself up to a blizzard.

'Miss French …'

Poppy started to cry in earnest, fighting Lacey's attempts to wrestle her back into the stroller.

'I'm sorry. We shouldn't have come. Have a lovely Christmas, Mr Gold.'

Acting on an impulse she didn't quite understand, Lacey pressed her lips to his pale cheek. He caught her hand.

'Stay,' he said.

'The snow… If we don't leave now we'll never get home.'

'Please.'

He gave a soft tug, bringing her into his personal space. Catching the scent of his cologne, Lacey felt her resistance start to crumble. Poppy gave a little whimper.

'She'll poop on your couch.'

'It's a risk I'm prepared to take.'


	8. Chapter 8

The wine was exceptional. At least she thought it was. Lacey hadn't had a drink in what felt like forever and a few sips of the deep red liquid were enough to set her head swimming. Poppy was asleep, somehow managing to take up most of the couch and Lacey had been relegated to the floor. It wasn't so bad. In fact she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so comfortable … so safe. 

'Beef or shrimp?' 

She looked up to see Gold holding two Cup O' Noodles. 

'Shrimp,' she said. 

He eased himself down next to her, taking up the wine bottle and refilling her glass. Outside the sky was dark, the short winter day almost at an end. The television played quietly in the background, plasma screen, larger than it had any right to be. A reporter stood in the centre of Times Square, bundled up and doing his best to sound concerned as the snow swirled around. New York was threatening to grind to a standstill but Lacey couldn't bring herself to care. She changed the channel,

'Curious choice,' Gold said as the monochrome image filled the screen.

Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was something else but Lacey found herself settling back next to him, their shoulders touching. It was uncomfortable for a moment but then he relaxed, shifting into an easier position with his thigh resting against hers. She imagined it was to put less pressure on his bad leg. Her attention was drawn back to the screen, 

'It's so romantic,' she sighed.

'Really?'

'Don't you see? He loves her. He's willing to sacrifice everything for her happiness.'

'Is that what you want, Miss French? Surely you'd prefer a more traditional romance? A handsome hero sweeping you off your feet?'

Lacey shook her head. 

'That's not love.'

It wasn't something she had much experience with. Before Poppy love meant a drink, dinner (if she was lucky) and sex that was faster than it was satisfying … anything to stave off the loneliness for a moment. She'd craved the physical gratification and nothing more. 

'And what is love, Miss French?'

'Love is truth, Mr. Gold.'

Her breath caught in her throat as she realised that his lips were terribly close to hers.There had been a time when she wouldn't have hesitated, when she would have taken everything she could get. He was rich, lonely … and he really did have the most beautiful eyes. But he didn't kiss her. He turned away. 

'Lacey,' he began, 'there's something you need to know…'

But before he could finish his head snapped back. Poppy had reached out, grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked it hard. Lacey couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face. 

'I think she likes you,' she said. 

He winced as he tried to untangle himself.

'The feeling is mutual.'

Finally free, Gold gave Poppy a finger to hold. She grasped it tightly, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Seeing their faces side by side, Lacey felt a surge of affection for this man. He returned her daughter's gaze with such tenderness. Poppy gave a little whimper as she tried to shove his finger in her mouth. 

'Someone's hungry,' he smiled. 

Lacey reached out and snagged the diaper bag, digging deep to find the bottle she'd prepared. She offered it to Gold.

'Do you want to do the honours?'

'I … Yes … Thank you.'

He picked up Poppy, cradling her close. The little girl grumbled at first but soon latched onto the bottle he offered. Gold smiled. A real, honest genuine grin, probably the first she'd ever seen from him. Lacey scooted closer to watch her daughter feed. 

'You're a natural,' she said after a while. Poppy had just about emptied the bottle. 

'I've had practice.'

Of course, he'd had a son. How could she have forgotten? Gold offered her a brief smile, trying to make out that it didn't matter. 

'My first wife wasn't exactly the maternal type,' he went on. 

'And your second?'

He glanced down at the ring that adorned his finger. 

'Gone,' he said. 'And I don't think she's coming back.' 

Setting the bottle down, he lifted Poppy onto his shoulder, gently rubbing her back. Lacey handed him a cloth to protect his shirt, not that he seemed bothered by the idea of baby vomit but the material looked expensive. She'd hate for him to ruin it. Poppy snuggled against him, long eyelashes dusting onto her cheeks as her thumb wandered into her mouth. 

'Sleepy baby,' Lacey cooed before yawning herself. 

'It seems she's not the only one.'

He didn't seem offended. 

'I'll show you the guest room.'

She took Poppy from him, the baby whimpering softly as she was deprived of her warm pillow. 

The guest room was bigger than her apartment. Or at least it seemed that way. Like everywhere else in the apartment, the space was dominated by the windows. Here, however, the vast expanse of glass held a set of doors that led out onto a balcony. Lacey set Poppy down in the middle of the king-sized bed, her eyes drawn to the world outside. 

'Can I?' she asked. 

'Of course.'

Opening the doors a crack, she slipped out into the night. The snow was still falling, swirling around her as she leaned out over the city. Lacey took deep breaths of the cold, clean air. This place would be fabulous in summer. She imagined sitting up here, drinking iced tea whilst the rest of the city baked. A foolish dream, but one she wanted to indulge in. She needed to hold onto this … just for a little while. Tomorrow, when the snow cleared, she'd be dragged back to reality. 

'Is everything all right, Miss French?' 

Reaching out her hand, she let the snowflakes dust her fingertips. 

'Everything's perfect,' she said. 

Lacey looked over her shoulder, feeling her cheeks burn with something other than cold. He was standing close … close enough to feel his warmth. She stumbled and his free hand reached for her hip. Lacey leaned into the hesitant touch, letting him breathe in the scent of her. Slowly he closed the distance between them; his lips brushing hers with a tenderness that took her breath away … A caress as brief and delicate as the snowflakes surrounding them. 

'Lacey?' he asked.

'Mr. Gold?' she smiled up at him. 

He pulled back and the moment of intimacy was lost. 

'I'll find you something to sleep in.'

Gold moved away, rubbing his left shoulder again, leaving Lacey wondering what she had done wrong as she followed him back inside. 

Poppy seemed to be deeply asleep. Lacey stroked her cheek, reassured by the whisper of breath against her fingers. The baby stirred, suddenly pushing herself up and over onto her stomach. Despite weeks of baby push ups and tummy time, Poppy had never before shown an inclination to go anywhere by herself. Somewhere at the back of her mind Lacey figured that she should have gone front to back first but maybe Mrs. Letterman had been the witness to that minor miracle. Now, at least, Lacey had someone to share the moment with. 

'Mr. Gold! Mr. Gold ... Come see what Poppy did!'

Scooping Poppy up in her arms, she rushed down the hallway, hesitating when she came to the door of what she guessed was Gold's bedroom. 

She knocked. 

'Mr. Gold?'

When he didn't reply, she pushed the door open. The room was dark, smaller than the one he'd given her, decorated in deep red and dark wood. A pair of dark blue silk pyjamas spilled across the floor. It took a moment for her to spot Gold. He was propped up against the bed. Grey and sweating, his hand clamped to his left shoulder. He looked up at her, brown eyes pleading, 

Lacey dropped to her knees, setting Poppy down beside him. 

'What is it? What's wrong?'

'It's my heart.' 

He was gasping for breath. His lips tinged blue. 

'Please… phone… my jacket.' 

Lacey stumbled to her feet, running through the apartment on legs that no longer seemed able to bear her weight. She found his jacket, almost ripping the fine fabric as she fought to pull it from the chair where it had been slung. Gold's phone skidded across the floor. She grabbed it, fingers fumbling as she dialled 911.


	9. Chapter 9

Sunday morning. A hospital waiting room. It was the last place that Lacey had expected to end up especially with a fussy child in tow. Poppy cried every time Lacey tried to put her down so she cuddled her daughter close, comforting the both of them. 

She still wasn't sure how they had ended up here. It certainly hadn't been her intention when the EMTs had finally shown up. But neither had she wanted to wait in Gold's empty apartment. He hadn't asked her to stay but Lacey liked think that he might be glad she had. 

'You can see your friend now.'

She looked up. A nurse stood before her, an understanding smile plastered on her face. 

'Would you like me to watch her?'

Lacey hesitated, but only for a second. She strapped Poppy back into her stroller, hoping that Santa bear would keep her occupied at least for a little while. 

'I won't be long.'

Lacey knew that Gold wasn't a big man but for the first time he looked small; almost lost amongst machines, tubes and cables. She gave into the urge to brush his hair from his forehead, letting the silken strands slip through her fingers, watching as his eyes fluttered open. He leant into her touch, whispering a name that she didn't quite catch.

'Hey,' she said, taking his hand in hers. 'How are you feeling?'

His skin looked grey and paper frail. He coughed, his breathing laboured.

'Like someone ripped out my heart.'

'Is there anyone you want me to call?' she asked, holding up his cell phone.

He laughed - a bitter hollow sound. 

'No … no one.'

Poppy had started whimpering. Lacey could hear the thin wail through the closed door. Another two minutes and the screaming would start. She glanced away, torn between her daughter and the man in the hospital bed. 

'Go,' Gold said. 

'I'll come back after work.'

'There's no need … really,' he said.

He pulled away, turning his face to the opposite wall. This wasn't the man who had looked after Poppy so carefully … the man who had kissed her so tenderly. He was scared and hurt, pushing her away because he had no reason to think that she'd stay. Lacey wasn't about to let that happen. 

'I finish at three. Mrs Letterman won't mind watching Poppy for a while longer.'

'You don't owe me anything Miss French.'

'We both know that's not true.'

Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his.

'I'll see you later, Mr. Gold. Let me know if there's anything you need.'

She'd almost got to the door when he called after her. 

'Miss French?'

'Yes?'

'I would be grateful if you could bring me something to wear other than this infernal hospital gown.'

'I'll see what I can find.'

'And maybe a copy of the New York Times?' 

It all seemed very unreal, stepping out into the bright winter morning, fresh snow crunching under her feet. Lacey blinked up at the blue sky, her breath misting in the chilly air. 

Gold would be okay. Lacey had to believe that, but she didn’t like to think of him alone in that hospital room. There had to be someone out there, someone else who cared about him. It was only then that Lacey realised she still had his phone. She flipped it open and started to search for saved numbers. There was only one name on the list. 

Henry. 

She pressed dial. The phone barely had the chance to ring before someone answered.

'Grandpa? Grandpa Gold … is that you?'

It was a young voice, trembling somewhere between childishness and manhood

'Henry?' Lacey asked.

'Grandma?'

'No… I'm… I'm a friend of Mr. Gold's. 

'Where is he? Is he okay?'

'Henry … Henry I'm sorry but your grandpa's very sick.'


	10. Chapter 10

'Sweetie, you look like hell.'

Lacey winced at Lena's words even though she knew that the other woman was probably right.

'Rough weekend?'

'You could say that.'

'I don't know how you manage … I mean a screaming brat keeping you up half the night …'

'It wasn't Poppy.'

She cut Lena off, wanting to make it understood that this had nothing to do with her daughter. 

'I was at the hospital. A friend of mine had a heart attack.' 

'Not that creepy guy with the cane?'

'Mr. Gold.'

'What?'

'His name is Mr. Gold.'

Lacey didn't know why Lena was pissing her off so much. Usually she managed to brush off the pointed comments but somehow that wasn't happening today. The previous night had left her raw. She didn't want to be here. Not in this place, serving greasy treats to people who barely acknowledged her existence. Lacey knew that this was the only job she was really capable of, but it wasn't enough. She wanted … needed to make a difference. Somehow. 

'… and I knew you wouldn't mind taking over for me.'

'What?'

'Got to get a bikini wax.'

Raising her eyebrows, Lena nodded towards Angelo.

'It's a special night … if you know what I mean.'

'No … no I can’t. I promised.'

Lacey's protests were met with air kisses. 

'Thank you, sweetie.'

And then, in a whirl of cloying perfume, Lena was gone. Lacey coughed to clear her lungs of it. 

'Uh Angelo… about the extra shift… '

He pulled a batch of onion rings out of the fryer and dumped them on a plate. 

'Listen, thanks for helping me and Lena out. Her old man's been cranky lately and she's had a tough time getting away. I'll make sure there's a little extra in it for you. Buy that kid of yours something nice from her Uncle Angelo. '

Lacey closed her eyes. When he put it that way she didn't have a whole lot of choice. He pushed the plate of onion rings into her hand. 

'Take this to table five will ya?'

She was halfway through the second shift when the phone rang. Lacey ignored it. Angelo was closer. She could vaguely hear his voice raised above the chatter of diners and thought no more of it until he bellowed across the diner. 

'French! It's for you.'

No one ever called her here, not ever. Gods ... Poppy! Shaking, Lacey navigated her way back to the kitchen, coffee slopping from the pot that was still clutched in her hand. She heard someone swear but didn't stop to apologise. 

Angelo handed over the phone and she pressed it to her ear, 

'Hello?' 

'Lacey French?' the nameless voice asked. It wasn't Mrs. Letterman. 

'Yes.'

She listened to the dispassionate speech. Nodding along as if she understood what was happening. The only words she recognised were flat line. Lacey let the phone slip from her fingers.

'I've got to go.'

'French? What is it?'

'I've got to go,' she said again as she grabbed her jacket and purse, ignoring the clatter of broken crockery when she knocked a stack of plates to the floor. She didn't care about Angelo or the customers waiting for their coffee and pancakes. But he was standing in her way, his good-natured face wrinkled with concern. 

'I got hungry customers here. You'd better have a damn good reason for running out on me.' 

'Please … My friend … I think he's dying.'

'Jeeze French, why didn't you say somethin'?' 

Angelo wrapped her up in a big sweaty hug and then pressed a fifty into her hand. She squeezed him back, lost for words. He was a good man, far too good for the likes of Lena. 

'Now go … get outta here.' 

Lacey didn't wait. The door slammed behind her as she tumbled out onto the street shouting for a taxi. Fifty bucks that she could have spent on diapers or formula and she was rushing to the bedside of a guy she barely knew. Yet somehow … Lacey couldn't explain why she was doing this. Even if she managed to get to the hospital she had no idea what she might find. She told herself over and over that he'd be okay. People survived heart attacks all the time. 

The traffic was a bitch. Lacey ditched the cab two blocks from the hospital, throwing Angelo's money at the driver without waiting for change. Somehow running along the sidewalk made things easier, she actually felt like she was doing something even if her feet did keep slipping on the barely melted snow. The cold tore into her lungs, leaving her gasping for breath by the time she reached her destination. Lacey was forced to stop for a second and let the stitch in her side ease before she charged into Gold's room. 

Gold was lying flat on the bed, hooked up to a respirator. His eyes were urgent, clouded with fear. Lacey followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of red hair. Lena … Lena was there in his room. She didn't know how or why but the woman was obviously scaring the shit out of Mr. Gold. Lena darted towards the door but Lacey blocked her path. 

'Keep away from him!'

Lena laughed in her face. 

'What are you going to do? Beat me to death with a diaper bag?'

'I mean it.'

'It's pathetic what you've become. A nameless hussy looking for a baby daddy. I can't believe that I actually used to respect you! '

Lacey slammed her fist into the other woman's face, taking pleasure in the crunch of broken bones. She stood over the fallen woman massaging her wrist. Her hand hurt, the knuckles bruised and raw.

'Security!' Lena screamed.

The room suddenly became crowded with nurses, doctors, security guards. To her horror Lacey realised that Lena was being helped to her feet. The woman's face was wet with crocodile tears as she sobbed in the arms of the biggest and burliest of the men. 

'She attacked me!'

Lacey looked down at herself - cheap shoes, laddered pantyhose, a purse that had clearly seen the wrong end of a garage sale. A large hand clamped itself around her arm. Who would ever believe that she was playing hero? No one, it seemed … apart from Gold. He was struggling to sit up, his hands clawing at the tube in his mouth as he tried to rip it free. The beep from the heart monitor growing more frantic. 

'Mr. Gold … Mr. Gold … please,' a nurse was begging him to lie still. Lacey vaguely recognised her as the woman who had looked after Poppy. 

A doctor appeared. A syringe clutched in his fist he tried to inject the contents into the line that snaked its way to Gold's hand. 

Gold tore the IV out. The nurse carefully removed the breathing tube.

'Let her go!'

His voice was hoarse as he struggled for breath. But no one could dispute the authority with which he spoke. He gestured for assistance, and was helped to sit up. 

'I assure you that Miss French was acting in self defence,' he rasped. 'Get that woman out of here. NOW!'

Lacey shrunk back, trying to make herself as small as possible. The enormity of what she'd done hitting her straight in the gut. She'd tried so hard and now … and now she'd lost every bit of self respect she had. There was nothing left. No way she could provide for her daughter. Her face was wet, she realised. She couldn't stop crying. 

The room was quiet now. Gold had been settled comfortably in his bed. She could see the concern in his eyes as he held out his hand. Lacey took it and let him pull her closer. 

'How do you know her? Lena?' she asked. 

The fear was back. She saw it, just for a second. 

'It's a long and very unpleasant story.'

'I need to know.'

'Maybe … one day.'

But Lacey wasn't buying it. Not for a second. A fresh wave of tears threatened to overwhelm her as she found herself sobbing in his arms. Somehow he'd managed to pull her onto the bed with him, holding her close.

'I just lost my job,' she wept.

'Oh sweetheart … it's okay… it's okay. I'll take care of you … if you'll let me?'

He placed a finger under her chin, coaxing her to look at him. 

'It would be a two way arrangement. A deal if you like?'

Lacey wiped her nose on the back of her hand. 

'What kind of a deal?'

'Don't you think, after all this, that I need ooking after as well?'

She shook her head. 

'I want more.'

'And you'll have it. I promise. There's a whole world waiting out there for you … you and Poppy.'

'The world?'

He nodded. Lacey settled back down beside him, letting herself believe, just for a little while.


	11. Chapter 11

It was Christmas Eve. Tired, worn, Gold stumbled as he walked up the steps towards the apartment. Lacey stood back, knowing that any offers of help wouldn't be appreciated. She yawned. Poppy had been awake half the night and was snotty this morning. Lacey knew it was nothing more than a slight cold but even so…

'Hey,' he smiled, when he finally reached the landing. He was out of breath, sweating and Lacey suddenly felt bad about asking him to join them. She was certain that he'd have much rather been on Fifth Avenue, in the comfort of his own home.

The child in her arms wriggled, pointing at Gold.

'She missed you,' Lacey said.

He tickled the little girl, making her giggle.

'The feeling is mutual.'

They stood there for a few moments, neither knowing quite what to say. Eventually, Lacey had no choice but to wave him inside.

She'd done her best with the apartment but somehow the tinsel and fairy lights only served to make it look worse. Gold, she noticed, didn't remove his coat. He must have felt the chill in the air. Lacey had turned the heating down a few days ago in an attempt to save money and eke out her meagre savings.

'I hope you don't mind but I brought a little something for Poppy.'

Gold opened his bag and pulled out a gaily wrapped parcel, placing it under the tiny tree. He then handed Lacey a long, narrow package.

'And this is for you.'

'I'm sorry … I didn't…'

Lacey took a deep breath, forcing herself to be grateful for his kindness. She placed an awkward kiss on his cheek.

'Thank you.'

He blushed.

'It's no matter.'

Lacey set Poppy down on the floor. Gold lowered himself onto the couch, his attention riveted on the little girl; watching with strange fascination as she played with her toes.

'Uh … the turkey's almost done and we have dressing, potatoes and greens …'

'You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble.'

'When I can't afford it?'

He drew back, his fingers tightening on his cane. Lacey sighed. Gold wasn't her enemy. Not anymore. She had to stop treating that way. Trusting that the turkey could look after itself for a little while, she sat beside him. He relaxed, but only slightly.

'I take it that you've had no luck in finding alternative employment.'

Lacey shook her head.

'Angelo paid me until the end of the month. Maybe in the new year?'

It was hard though. She'd filled out a dozen applications but hadn't really been qualified for any of them. Most had been kind enough not to laugh in her face. Come January and she'd start again. Take whatever she could get. Do what she had to.

'I baked,' she said with a small smile. 'Pecan pie.'

Gods, why couldn't she stop prattling on about food? Surely there was something else that she could talk about? Lacey was drawing a blank.

Poppy reached for Gold's shoe laces, overbalancing slightly, and toppling onto her face. Her thin cry broke through the awkward silence and Lacey started down to comfort her daughter. Gold got there first, pulling Poppy onto his lap, bouncing her on his knee. He wiped the little girl's tears away with his silk handkerchief.

'I'll … just go and check on dinner,' Lacey stammered, suddenly feeling unnecessary.

'Is there anything I can help with?' he offered.

'Can you cook?'

'Of course.'

'Apart from noodles?'

'I think you'll find my skills extend beyond microwaveable products.'

Gold leaned closer, just enough for Lacey to feel his breath against her cheek.

'And you should definitely taste my pancakes.'

She attempted to laugh even through the heat that threatened to stain her skin.

'Are you flirting with me, Mr. Gold?'

'And why would I do that, Miss French?'

'I'm not your wife.'

Gold twisted the ring on his left hand.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.'

'You didn't it's just … I guess I'm not used to nice guys coming onto me.'

'I'm not nice,' he said, a bitter twist to his words.

'Yes you are. Deep down,' she said and then rested her hand over his heart. 'Where it matters.'

'My actions towards you were unforgivable.'

Poppy was chewing on his tie. Lacey gently removed the sodden garment from her daughter's mouth and smoothed the little girl's thin hair. It was getting darker by the day. Brown hair, brown eyes and the longest eyelashes she'd ever seen on a baby. Her daughter was beautiful. It was the first time she'd really admitted it to herself.

'What's done is done,' she said with a shrug. There didn't seem to be much point in raking up the past. Gold nodded but Lacey had the feeling he wanted more from her. Absolution? Not something she was qualified to grant. She stroked her daughter's satin soft cheek and then took a deep breath.

'I don't know who her father is,' she admitted in a whisper. 'It's like one day I just woke up and I was pregnant. Virgin birth, right? '

Lacey wiped her face with her hand, dragging away the tears that threatened to fall.

'There were a lot of guys. Some of then I even liked but … but I kind of wish this one had been special, you know? That he could see how wonderful she is. That he'd care about her. I mean even if we weren't together…'

'Oh sweetheart…'

Gold slid an arm about her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her hair.

'She has a mother who loves her more than anything,' he said. 'Don't ever think that you won't be enough for her. Poppy is a very lucky little girl.'

Poppy gave a little sniffle, adding a layer of baby snot to the drool that was already covering Gold's tie. A thin spiral of smoke drifted through the apartment. Lacey shot to her feet.

'It's the pie!' she shouted over her shoulder as she ran to rescue dessert.

Dinner wasn't a complete disaster. Or if it was, Gold was too polite to comment. They ate dry turkey, over-boiled vegetables and slightly burnt pie. The cheap bottle of wine they shared tasted of vinegar but Lacey found that it was quite adequate as far as alcohol content was concerned. She felt slightly light-headed as she put Poppy down for a nap. It felt perfectly natural to join Gold on the couch and curl up against him whilst she flicked through the channels on the tiny TV. She settled on the Wizard of Oz but Gold removed the remote from her hand.

'How can you hate the Wizard of Oz?' Lacey demanded.

'I had a bad experience,' he admitted, 'with the Wicked Witch of the West.'

'Old girlfriend?'

'Gods no!'

Lacey warmed to his violent denial. Not even minding when he switched to a classical concert. Curling her feet up, she leaned against him, letting herself get swept away in the music. Lacey couldn't remember the last time she'd listened to Christmas carols. Not like this. The soaring soprano touched something deep within her soul. Feeling Gold so close, his warmth, his scent… They rearranged themselves on the couch. Lacey with her head on his chest, listening to his ailing heart beat. His fingers tangled in her hair, smoothing out the knots. It was nice she realised, to be this close to someone without the need for anything other than companionship.

Not that she didn't want to. Gold was a good looking man. She'd have to be half dead before she couldn't recognise that. But the guy had just had a heart attack and she didn't want to be responsible for giving him another one. And this was nice.

'What is?' Gold asked.

Lacey felt her face warm. She hadn't realised that she'd spoken the thought aloud.

'This is,' she said.

'I'm not doing anything.'

'Keep doing it.'

He chuckled, winding his fingers back through her hair.

'As long as you want.'

Lacey didn't want to think about forever. She lived day to day, week to week… Nothing lasted. Poppy was the first constant she'd ever had in her life. But here, now, with this man, she was starting to believe that maybe she did have a future. That there was something for her outside of this tiny narrow world she'd found herself in.

She cuddled closer, closing her eyes and letting the music carry her away.

And then his whispered words caught her on the edge of sleep.

'Oh Belle … sweetheart … what did you do?'


	12. Chapter 12

Lacey awoke to the thin sound of her daughter's cry. The apartment was bathed in darkness and it took her a moment to remember exactly why she was tucked up on the couch. She was just about to unwind herself from the quilt when Poppy's wail stuttered to a stop, soothed by a distinctive Scottish brogue.

'Shhhhh, we don't want to wake your mama, do we?'

Looking towards the bedroom, Lacey could just about make out Gold's pale figure. Poppy was cradled in his arms.

'Are you hungry? Shall we see if mama's got some milk for you?'

She peeped through her lashes, feigning sleep as he limped past her towards the kitchen. A click, and he was suddenly illuminated by the light from the refrigerator.

Dressed in his boxers and undershirt, it was weird to see his normally carefully combed hair in disarray. Her eyes were drawn to his ankle and the mass of pale scars that marred the flesh.

He picked out a bottle and plunged the apartment back into darkness. Lacey felt him move past her again, back to the bedroom. The bedsprings creaked as he sat down. He switched on the bedside light.

'My beautiful baby girl,' he cooed as he offered Poppy the bottle. 'Did you have a bad dream?'

Poppy turned her head away, refusing to take it, giving another little whimper. Outside a police siren wailed.

'It's alright little one. I won't let anything hurt you… that's it… come on now…'

He continued to whisper, his soft voice comforting as the baby started to feed. Lacey carefully got to her feet and crept closer. Gold's attention was fixed on Poppy.

'Do you want a story?'

Poppy clasped the bottle in her little hands, an action that Gold seemed to take as permission to continue.

'Once upon a time there lived a man called Rumplestiltskin – the most powerful wizard and the biggest fool in the Enchanted Forest. He was married to a princess called Belle. As kind and as clever as she was beautiful, Belle was braver than any knight of the realm. Her smile would light up the darkest room and Rumplestiltskin loved her very much.

'But Rumplestiltskin was a coward. He didn't believe the life that they had was perfect. He craved power and would use any means to obtain more …even taking another man's life. Such were the magnitude of his evil deeds that his heart became black. And Belle, seeing how much her husband had hurt their family and friends, and the danger he had brought to their world did a very brave thing. She banished Rumplestiltskin to a land without magic.

'Rumplestiltskin wandered far and wide through this strange new world until he came to a city called New York. Even though Rumplestiltskin was alone and afraid, he was still a very rich man. He used his gold to buy a castle, fine clothes … many, many things but his heart … his heart only wanted Belle.

'And then one day, just when he thought his old blackened heart might stop beating all together, he found his love once more. With her was a beautiful little girl called Poppy – Rumplestiltskin's daughter. Belle was under a spell and she didn't recognise her husband. But Rumplestiltskin believed that she would come to know him again. He would wake her with true love's kiss and they would all live happily ever after.

'So it's alright Poppy, your Papa's here and he promises that he will never, ever leave you.'

'That's not how the story goes,' Lacey said as she stepped out of the shadows. Gold looked up, tearing his eyes away from Poppy.

'You prefer the version where Rumplestiltkin tears himself apart?'

The baby whimpered in his arms but Gold quietened her effortlessly.

'I prefer the truth.'

'Sweetheart … It's not what you think.'

What the hell had she done? Spent the rent on cheap beer and screwed her landlord in compensation?

'You knew? All this time?' she demanded.

He nodded.

'As soon as I held her in my arms.'

She wanted to deny it but the resemblance was too strong. The eyes, the nose … Lacey couldn't believe how stupid she'd been.

'That's why you started being nice. It had nothing to do with me. You just wanted to get to Poppy.'

Lacey wrapped her arms about herself, trying to ease the ache in her gut. Gold had everything. He could give Poppy the life she deserved.

'No … no … I would never take her away.'

'Why not? She'd be better off with you.'

'She needs her mama,' he said gently.

It didn't make sense. None of this made sense.

'Sweetheart…'

'Don't call me that!'

'Lacey … let's put Poppy back to bed and then we'll talk. I promise.'

She was torn between the desire to let her daughter sleep and the need to get them both as far away from Gold as possible.

It felt surreal to watch Gold set Poppy down in her cot, cover her with the blanket, to make sure her bear was within reach. All the things a father should do. He sat down on the bed and gestured for Lacey to join him. She didn't move.

'You're name is Belle Gold,' he said. 'We were married last year.'

'No last year I was …'

'Where? Where were you, Lacey?'

She shook her head. He was playing mind games. She'd been here in New York last year. That much she was sure of but when she examined more closely the actual memories seemed to slip away. Fuzzy. Unfocussed. Just out of reach. Gold gestured towards his jacket, hanging neatly over a chair.

'If you look in my wallet you'll find a picture.'

Lacey did as he asked, removing the battered photo from a wallet that seemed overburdened with platinum credit cards.

'Did you photoshop this?' she asked.

But the scrap of paper was too well worn, too fragile to be the product of computer generation. The woman in the picture was smiling at Gold, her eyes glowing with love. Somehow, Lacey found it difficult to recognise the woman in the photo as herself. The face was the same but… she didn't know what it was. A different personality seemed to lurk behind those wise blue eyes.

'She looks happy,' Lacey said.

'We were … for a little while.'

'What happened?'

'I made a mistake.'

'No … to her. Belle.'

'I don't know.'

There was another photo in the wallet. Lacey pulled it out without waiting for Gold's permission.

'My son and my grandson,' he said.

'Handsome.'

'I like to think so.'

But there was a catch in his voice … a grief still raw and new. Her heart softened, just a little. His loss must have been a recent one. She handed the photos back, sitting down beside him.

'People's memories don't just change,' she said, even though her voice wavered.

'I know but they can be stolen.'

'How?'

'Magic.'

Lacey laughed.

'And there's a cure?' she asked.

'True love's kiss … May I try?'

It was a fairytale. A stupid story he was weaving around her but she leaned towards him all the same, letting his hand brush softly against her cheek. His lips were just as sweet as she remembered. Yielding to the gentle pressure, Lacey let him deepen the kiss, sucking gently on his lower lip, his tongue flickering briefly against her own.

And then she felt something shift inside. Twist. A different personality trying to fight free. A blinding light, so pure that it threatened to overwhelm her. But Lacey didn't want to go.

She shoved Gold back so hard that he fell off the bed. He landed on his hands and knees with enough of a thump to wake Poppy and start her crying again. Grabbing his clothes, Lacey threw them at him.

'Get out,' she hissed.

'Lacey ...'

Turning away, she picked Poppy up, cradling her close. The little girl didn't stop wailing. Gold pulled on his pants and shirt, shoving his feet into his shoes, stuffing his tie into his pocket.

'I meant what I said … I won't take Poppy away from you but neither will I be separated from my child.'

'Go … please.'

He nodded, picking up his coat and cane.

'I'll see you in court, Miss French.'

The door slammed shut behind him leaving the apartment suddenly too still, too quiet. Somewhere in the distance Lacey heard a clock strike, a reminder that it was Christmas day. She went to the window. Snow was falling again, coating the pavements and harsh lines of the city blocks. Poppy pointed to the sidewalk, to Mr. Gold. He was standing there, head bowed, shoulders hunched against the chill wind. And then he straightened, turning his head to glance up at the window. Lacey drew back, pulling the drapes shut and shutting out the world. She didn't want to watch him walk away.

Lacey crawled into her bed, Poppy beside her. She tried to ignore the fact that the pillow smelt of Gold's cologne. But there, resting on the nighstand, was the photo. Two people happy and in love. She didn't believe for a moment that he'd left it by mistake. Lacey tore it in two. The pieces fluttered from her fingers.


	13. Chapter 13

Lacey slopped the mop back into the bucket, not really caring about the dirty water that splashed across the tiles. She'd done her best but the floor was still a mess of grime and maybe worse. Pine-scented disinfectant did little to disguise the stench of stale urine. She supposed that she should be grateful. At least she had a job … even if it wasn't much of one. She'd make the rent this month and Gold wouldn't have the excuse he needed to toss them out on the street. It was a small, but important victory.

She washed her hands, wondering if they'd ever stop smelling of piss and shit. They were red and raw. The skin cracked in places, nails torn to the quick. She remembered hands that had been exquisitely manicured, nail polish expertly applied.

Lacey looked at herself in the mirror, trying to fight the images that insisted on flashing into her brain. It had been happening more and more … ever since Gold had kissed her.

Running the cold tap, Lacey splashed water over her face. It was crazy. She shouldn't be thinking about the softness of his lips or the way his tongue had caressed hers for that brief, impossible moment.

'Hey Lace!'

Slimy hands deposited themselves on her hips.

'Mr. Graham,' she said, forcing a smile. Lacey tried not to gag. It wouldn't hurt the man to acquaint himself with a deodorant … or take a shower once in a while.

'Nice job,' he said.

'Thanks.'

He was lying. Lacey was no better as a cleaner than she had been as a waitress. She just wore shorter skirts and bent over more. It made men like Graham easier to manipulate.

'You know … if you wanted to earn a little extra…,' he suggested.

His hand drifted upwards, almost cupping her breast. She could feel him close behind her … Semi-hard penis, pressing against her arse. Lacey wriggled out of his grasp. She wasn't quite that desperate. Not yet. She hoped that she never would be.

'Let's take a rain check on that, Mr. Graham,' she said, flashing him a smile full of lies and broken words. She closed her eyes as he pressed against her once more.

'Yeah … let's do that.'

Graham's words were a threat not a promise. He moved away, walking towards the urinal. Lacey turned her back as he pissed. Close as he was, he made sure that he didn't quite hit the porcelain.

'You missed a spot,' he said as he zipped up.

The bathroom door banged shut.

She was tempted to leave it. Just walk out and never come back. If it hadn't been for Poppy she probably would have done. Knowing that this was a job that she couldn't afford to lose, Lacey mopped up the urine. It could have been worse, she told herself. He could have taken a shit on the floor.

She dutifully packed away the tools of her trade, making sure that she had enough supplies to last her another night … she didn't particularly want to face Graham again. She didn't stop to say goodbye. Lacey wasn't even vaguely tempted to stay behind and see if she could persuade some hapless New Yorker to buy her a drink. Those days were over.

'Happy new year,' Lacey muttered to herself as she stepped out into the bitter night, tucking her hands into her armpits. She'd lost her gloves and hadn't been able to afford a new pair. It was almost 8.30. The club would open its doors in another half hour but Lacey wanted to be home by then. She'd had never really expected that the birth of her child would change her so much. The gods new but she'd fought long and hard against it. And now she couldn't possibly imagine her life without Poppy. Lacey truly didn't know what she would do if Mr. Gold wanted to take her away. Every moment she shared with her daughter was precious. Lacey believed that more than ever.

There was a letter waiting back at home. It had arrived a week ago but Lacey had yet to find the courage to open it. Her one satisfaction was the fact that it had probably cost him a small fortune to pay his lawyer to work over the holidays. Ignoring the letter was just her way of trying to deal with the situation she now found herself in. There was no way that she would ever be able to afford to face him in court. She would be forced to settle for whatever Gold wanted. At best they would share equal custody of Poppy and at worst … Lacey wondered if she shouldn't just leave. Disappear? Surely there had to be some place in this city where Gold wouldn't find her?

She wound her way through the packs of strangers haunting the sidewalks, head down, not apologising to the people she knocked against in her eagerness to get home. Her breath clouded before her, the pavement sparkling with droplets of frost as the temperature dropped below zero. Despite the bitter chill, her body was warm, almost overheated. She unzipped her hoody, letting the cold air bathe her skin.

Lacey didn't even care that the elevator was broken as she ran up the stairs to Mrs. Letterman's apartment.

'You're a little late, dear,' Mrs Letterman said as she opened the door.

'I'm sorry.'

Lacey fumbled in her purse, finding a few extra bills to press into Mrs Letterman's withered hands. She picked up her sleeping daughter, snuggling Poppy close to her chest. This was perfect. This was heaven.

'Oh … I forgot to tell you,' Mrs. Letterman said. 'There was a woman looking for you.'

'What?'

'She said she was a friend of yours?'

Lacey didn't have friends, at least not since she'd been forced to leave the diner.

'Red hair … cheap looking. She had some kind of accent but it wasn't a lovely as yours.'

Lena. She was the only person Lacey knew who could possibly meet that description. She wasn't surprised that the woman had managed to wiggle her way out of police custody but she couldn't imagine why Lena would want to come here? And why had she gone to Mrs Letterman? It didn't make sense. The very thought of Lena being anywhere near Poppy made her feel vaguely sick

'She's not my friend,' Lacey said.

Mrs. Letterman patted her arm.

'That's what I thought. I didn't let her in.'

'Thank you.'

Lacey scrabbled in her purse for a few extra coins. Mrs. Letterman snatched them from her. It was more than Lacey was able to pay, but worth every cent if it kept Lena away from Poppy.

'Shouldn't you be getting your little munchkin to bed?'

Poppy grumbled softly at Mrs. Letterman's words. She grabbed Lacey's sweater, holding on tight.

'Yes … yes … of course,' Lacey said. 'Goodnight and thank you again.'

The old lady accepted the kiss that Lacey pressed to her wrinkled cheek.

Lacey climbed the remaining stairs slowly, careful not to jostle her sleepy daughter. Poppy, however, was now awake. She gave a little cry and Lacey realised that there would probably be little sleep for either of them that night. If Poppy was awake then Lacey was awake. There wasn't any other choice.

Letting them into the apartment, Lacey felt her eyes drawn to Gold's letter. She needed to open it.

'Do the brave thing,' she told herself as she set Poppy down on the floor.

Lacey ripped open the envelope and two pieces of paper fluttered out. She read the letter first.

'My Dear Lacey,

Please accept my apologies for my unfortunate behaviour on Christmas Eve. It was never my intention to cause you such distress. I am, by all accounts, a difficult man to love and perhaps now you can understand why.

I hope that the enclosed cheque will go some way to providing for both yourself and our daughter. If you are ever in need of any further assistance then please do not hesitate to contact me.

I remain your obedient servant,

R. Gold.'

Lacey picked up the cheque, tears running freely down her face as the number in words and figures came into focus. It was more than she could ever have imagined. He couldn't possibly have meant to give them so much. She couldn't possibly accept it, could she? There was nothing else. No demands, no threats. He just wanted to provide for his daughter. Perhaps he was a difficult man to love, but Lacey felt nothing more than affection for that strange and beautiful man.

Gold's packages still rested under the tree. It was long past twelfth night but Lacey hadn't gotten around to taking it down.

'Let's see what we got,' she said, picking up her daughter's parcel first and sitting down next to the little girl. Lacey gave the package a squeeze and a shake. Poppy reached out, fascinated by the shiny paper.

The small garment was exquisite. Beautifully made and Lacey knew that it would fit her daughter perfectly. She looked for the label but there wasn't one. Had it been hand crafted? The stitches seemed neat and even but they hadn't been sewn by a machine. Lacey frowned, wondering how she knew that. She could barely sew a button. Gold must have had it specially made. Lacey took her time to dress Poppy in the delicate garment. The soft cotton brought out the peaches and cream of her daughter's cheeks; highlighted the delicate curls that were starting to cluster on her head.

Lacey unwrapped her gift, taking care not to tear the paper. The box contained a charm bracelet. Expensive. Lacey knew that she should give it back, pawn it, drop it in the street … anything apart from fasten it about her wrist and watch how the charms caught the light. A book, a teacup and a rose; made from gold threads so fine that she couldn't imagine how they had ever been fashioned.

Why had he gotten them such beautiful things? Poppy was smiling, he rlittle hands plucking at the fabric of her new dress.

Without even realising it, Lacey reached for the phone, dialling the number from memory.

'Hello?' he answered quickly and she had the strange feeling that he'd been waiting for her call.

Lacey couldn't speak. The few short weeks had been enough for her to forget the warmth; the way is accent curled itself around the simplest of words.

'Hello, who is this?'

'Mr Gold,' she managed at last, her voice sounding strange and broken.

'Miss French? Is there something wrong? Is Poppy alright?'

'She's fine. I… We … got your gifts and I just wanted to say thank you.'

There was silence at the other end of the line.

'I also thought that maybe … maybe you could come over … if you wanted. Just to see her.'

'Lacey …'

'And we could talk?'

More silence. For a moment Lacey thought that he'd put down the phone. Cut her off. But when he finally spoke his words brought little comfort.

'I'm not sure that's a good idea. You have my cheque?'

'Yes.'

'It should be more than sufficient.'

'I don't want your money… '

'Then what do you want, Lacey? A baby sitter? Surely Mrs. Letterman is more convenient? '

'I don't know,' she mumbled. That much, at least, was the truth. This really wasn't turning out the way she had expected.

'When you make up your mind you know where to find me.'

'No … wait … please!'

She heard him sigh.

'Let's not make this any more difficult than it has to be,' he said.

'What about custody? We need to talk about that.'

'I thought that I had made my position perfectly clear. You may retain full custody of Poppy. I will provide financial assistance but nothing more.'

'Is that what you want?'

She was desperate. His words were breaking her heart but she knew that if she pushed a little further then maybe, just maybe, she'd find the man beneath the beast.

'No Lacey,' he said. 'It's not what I want.'

'Poppy wants to see you.'

'She's four months old. She doesn't even know who I am.'

'She needs her father … and I think … I think you need her.'

His final words were a whisper.

'I need both of you.'

'Then come,' she pleaded.

The line went dead.


	14. Chapter 14

She didn't dare hope. Not really. Lacey slipped the bracelet from her wrist and let it sparkle to the floor. Maybe she'd pick it up in the morning. Maybe she'd take it to the pawn shop. It had to be worth something … Maybe?

Lacey stripped off her clothes, ignoring the chill that caressed her naked skin. She climbed under the pathetically thin quilt that served as her only cover. Closing her eyes, she imagined that she could still catch the scent of Gold's cologne on the sheets. In reality, the only thing she could smell was washing powder. She closed her eyes.

She dreamt of a library. An old, circular room at the top of a tower lined with more books than she could have ever imagined, than anyone could ever read in a lifetime. The scent of old leather, parchment and wood smoke filled the air. Shelves reached far above her head, almost brushing the vaulted ceiling. Dust sparkled downwards from windows high up in the thick stone walls.

Lacey walked between the stacks, her skirt swishing around her ankles in a manner that was almost familiar. The bright yellow silk felt soft against her skin.

'Hello?'

Her voice was muffled by the heavy wall of paper. Lacey traced her fingers along the spines trying to make out the titles but the words didn't make any sense. It was almost as if her dream brain had forgotten how to read.

'Hello? Is there anyone here?'

Something giggled. High pitched. Not quite human.

To her right there was a ladder leading up to the highest shelves. Holding, her skirts out of the way, Lacey started to climb. She didn't know why, but somehow, she needed to know what was on the very top shelf. It was important, or so she believed. Clasping the top of the ladder with one hand, she reached upwards, her fingers skimming the topmost shelf. Lacey raised herself on her toes.

'Watch your step, Dearie.'

She turned her heel slipping. Falling backwards, the rush was almost exhilarating until the moment that strong arms plucked her out of the air.

And then she woke up.

Lacey sat up in bed, the sweat standing out on her skin. Icy cold. The scent of smoke was still with her and she coughed in an attempt to clear her aching chest. She could hear a feint beeping coming from somewhere. Switching the light on, she glanced around the apartment. Nothing appeared to be amiss. Poppy was sleeping peacefully. Her pacifier seemed to have vanished so her little thumb was stuck securely in her mouth. She hadn't been disturbed by her mother's nightmare.

Scrabbling around on the floor, Lacey found a pair of old sweats and a jumper. She pulled them on and went to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water and tipping the entire contents down her throat. She needed more. Her mind still muddled with sleep, Lacey went to the window and stared out at the street. A siren wailed, followed by another and another. She could see the flashing lights approaching. The road outside was fringed with orange. Smoke poured into the sky. The glass slipped from her fingers and smashed on the windowsill. The smoke alarm in the corridor started its high pitched call.

She snatched Poppy from her cot, not caring that her daughter cried out in fear. Lacey was on the verge of screaming herself. She went to the door, but the wood was warm beneath her fingertips.

The fire escape. Her dream came back with startling clarity as Lacey climbed out of the window. Looking up she could see the flames licking the brickwork; sparks, flying up into the reddened sky. The metal was hot beneath her bare feet. Poppy was wriggling in her arms, forcing Lacey to hold onto her more tightly that she wanted to. Her daughter wasn't used to such rough handling and began to scream. Lacey started down, flinging her free arm across her body in an attempt to protect both herself and Poppy from the smoke. Thick black clouds of it were spiralling upwards. She could barely see, barely breath.

Lacey wanted to run, to ignore the bundle in her arms and just plunge downwards racing the flames. She hated the fact that she had to pick her way with care, that she held something more precious than her own life. Six flights of stairs, six landings. Lacey counted every step, moving steadily. And slowly. Far too slowly.

There was a moment of elation when she reached the last landing. But her joy evaporated when she realised that the ladder which was supposed to drop to the ground was missing. If she'd been alone, Lacey would have tried to jump. But she couldn't not with Poppy clinging to her shirt.

'Help,' she screamed.

But there was no one to hear her. She yelled until her throat was hoarse, until her voice was nothing more than a whisper. The smoke was burning in her lungs. She couldn't breath.

And then there was someone. He was standing beneath her, arms outstretched waiting.

'Give her to me,' he said.

Tears streaming down her face, Lacey kissed Poppy's red scrunched up cheeks. She held her over the iron railing and let her go. He stumbled a few steps, his right ankle giving out and driving him to his knees but he caught Poppy securely in his arms. Rolling to his side he cradled her protectively against his body.

'Now you!' he shouted.

Lacey nodded but her legs wouldn't move. A hunk of flaming wood flashed by, its heat singing her hair. He stumbled out of its path.

'Please … sweetheart…'

He had to back away, taking Poppy with him, keeping her safe.

'Wait!' Lacey screamed.

He stopped.

Lacey sat down on the metal platform, dangling her legs over the edge. It seemed such a long way down. She edged forward, suspending herself in mid air for a terrible moment and then she jumped.

Her ankle twisted under her as she hit the ground. Lacey fell flat on her face, scraping her chin on the tarmac, her knees and hands were bleeding. Rolling onto her back, she lay there struggling for breath, watching the smoke spiral upwards and the flames licking the building. Tears streamed down her face. Then he was there, one arm pulling her to him. His body warm and solid and real.

'I've got you … I've got you. You're safe,' Gold whispered into her hair.

'I didn't think you'd come,' she sobbed.

'I couldn't stay away.'

'Poppy?'

'She's fine, she's fine. Look.'

She took the baby from him and cuddled her close. Poppy's cries diminished to a whimper. The little girl coughed.

'Sweetheart … we have to go.'

Gold's cane was nowhere to be seen but they clutched onto each other as they stumbled out of the alley and onto the street. There were moments of confusion, when Lacey lost sight of Gold. Someone wrapped a blanket over her shoulders. Poppy was taken from her for a few terrible seconds whilst the paramedics checked them over. They were both pronounced fit and hustled away.

She found herself alone. Standing on the tarmac, her bare feet scraped and raw. Lacey caught the sickening stench of burnt meat. Poppy started to cry again.

'Shhh … shhh…'

'Hey…'

Gold was limping towards them, his movements slow and painful without the cane to support him.

'I've got a cab waiting.'

Lacey nodded. Following him without question. There was no where else to go.


End file.
